


To Write a Ballad

by ConstantCacoethes



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Grinding, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:23:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22048582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantCacoethes/pseuds/ConstantCacoethes
Summary: Jaskier’s heart beat rapidly against his chest.“You’re wonderful when you’re quiet,” Geralt said, then kissed him, and Jaskier forgot to be offended.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 845





	To Write a Ballad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thisgirlsays22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisgirlsays22/gifts), [TheSilverField](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSilverField/gifts).



> I played the first Witcher game almost six months ago, and have since wanted to write a fic for this fandom. Finally, I have done so.
> 
> A huge thank you to Aer and Silver for being wonderful betas and cheerleaders, and for joining me in my descent to Hell. I adore you both. I am looking forward to being consumed by this ship with you at my sides.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said into the darkness. Through the paneless window he could see the barest stretch of empty night sky, and a branch of unmoving, autumn-dry leaves. The wind and rain had died around the time the fire did.

Jaskier counted ten of Geralt’s breaths, then took another of his own. “Geralt,” he tried again.

“What,” Geralt said.

“You can’t sleep, can you,” Jaskier said. “I can’t either. Was it really like this every night, Geralt? Not being able to sleep? Is it still like that? This place is so dusty I can hardly  _ breathe,  _ let alone sleep. How can you tell if someone’s going to attack you in this darkness?”

“I use my eyes,” Geralt said.

“Right, yes, of course,” Jaskier said. “I forgot about your—magical, witcher-y vision thing, I’m sure that’s wonderful. The question then is, how can  _ I  _ tell if someone’s—”

“I’m sure you’d notice eventually.”

“Can you light the fire?” Jaskier asked. “In the interest of my safety, of course.” And the interest of finding his lute.

Silence fell. Three heartbeats passed and then there was the sound of rustling, stacking logs, and with a burst of flames from Geralt’s fingers the fire began to crackle.

Jaskier sat up and looked around. “There’s my lute,” he said.

“No,” Geralt said. “Or I’ll use it for kindling.”

Geralt was sitting on the hearth in his drawers and a fraying undershirt. His hair was hanging loose around his face: near him his swords sat packed away in their sheath. Closer still lay Jaskier’s tunic, stretched out before the fire. A downpour had caught them on their way to fetch Geralt’s coin for a contract, shortly after noon. It had not been an easy contract. Jaskier had not seen that many dead in one place before. Yet they had found this house empty but most of all, dry, and settled in with bruises and chilled bones and no coin to show for it.

Outside, the wind again began to blow.

Jaskier’s legs were very, very cold.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said.

“What.”

“About the fire—”

“Don’t need to ask, Jaskier,” Geralt said. Jaskier faltered for a breath then began to strip the last of his clothes off. With fumbling hands he pulled on his tunic and in its place on the hearth laid his damp clothes. He clenched his teeth and shivered, then dragged Geralt’s bedroll closer to the hearth and sat down. He wrapped his arms around himself and looked up. Geralt was looking back.

“How do you do this every day?” Jaskier asked.

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t do this every day,” Geralt said, then, “shack up in an empty house. I usually stay on the road. Inns, when close to town.”

“Right,” Jaskier said, nodding. “How do you afford that? With all the potion ingredients, and stuff.”

Geralt did not respond.

Jaskier was no longer shivering, and the air had gone eerily still. Geralt’s pupils were blown wide.

“You must be tired,” Jaskier tried again. “Of all the running.”

“I’m not running.”

“Okay,” Jaskier said. “Then of the running around.”

“Sometimes.” He paused, considering. “You must get tired too.”

“Of writing?” Jaskier sat up with mock surprise. “Never.”

“Of being hungry, then.”

“I’m not anymore,” Jaskier said. “You’ve been  _ wonderful  _ for business. You could be doing so much more.”

“Like what?” Geralt asked. “Capitalizing on lies and romanticizing tragedy? I’m not a bard, Jaskier, I’m not an artist. I’m a witcher. Witchers aren’t made to do more.”

“You did, though,” Jaskier said. “You made a legend.”

_ “You  _ made a legend,” Geralt said. “Out of complete bullshit.”

“You’re awful prickly today,” Jaskier said. Geralt looked up at the window. It was lined with cobwebs, like the fireplace had been, and the corners of the room still were. It’s awfully hard to talk to you, Jaskier thought. It’d be like talking to a brick wall, if walls were wont to be snarky.

But brick walls were terribly boring, and compared to Geralt terribly fragile, and Jaskier could wax poetic about cracks in walls and rust reds and bricks but waxing poetic about Geralt, that made  _ money,  _ and legends, and if Jaskier was stuck composing ballads by Geralt’s side he’d love it for the rest of his life.

Following Geralt was fun, too, fun like little else. Sometimes it was more fun to watch Geralt’s stories play out than to write one brand new. Jaskier looked at Geralt’s lips. They were awfully chapped.

“Your hair looks nice like that,” Jaskier said, long due. Geralt looked down from the window.

“Yours is a mess,” he said.

Jaskier laughed, a little surprised. “Contrary to popular belief,” Jaskier said, “I do not roll out of bed looking flawless.”

“Hm,” Geralt said. “You do a pretty good job.”

Jaskier’s heart beat rapidly against his chest.

Geralt’s gaze was always so serious, even when he tried to make jokes, and now his gaze was serious, too, and you just can’t  _ say  _ things like that with a serious gaze, Jaskier thought. Jaskier thought a lot of things about Geralt. “Geralt?” He asked. Geralt didn’t respond.

“Geralt,” he said again, quieter, and Geralt kneeled down off the hearth and right before Jaskier, their lips inches apart. Jaskier let out a shaky breath.

“You’re wonderful when you’re quiet,” Geralt said, then kissed him, and Jaskier forgot to be offended.

Geralt eased him down onto the bedroll with a hand cradling the back of his head. Jaskier sank his fingers into Geralt’s hair; his chin stung from the rub of Geralt’s stubble, and Jaskier shuddered, moaning. Geralt gripped his side desperately, and then his tongue was in Jaskier’s mouth, and Jaskier pulled him closer and kissed him until his whole body burned hot with need.

Geralt pulled away with a forearm rested beside Jaskier’s head. His pupils were blown wide, and his entire face was shining with sweat. Jaskier could hardly breathe past the heat of his breath. Geralt ground down against Jaskier’s thigh and nosed the skin behind his ear.

Jaskier pulled Geralt closer, and Geralt exhaled against his skin. “I wonder,” Jaskier said between breaths, “if you could come like this. Just from rubbing against my thigh. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Coming all over my skin?”

Geralt pulled back, and for the briefest moment Jaskier panicked, but then Geralt thrust against his thigh again, eyes locked on Jaskier’s.

“I’d probably have to take my drawers off first,” Geralt said, and Jaskier laughed, his heart suddenly  _ racing. _

“You’d do that, huh,” Jaskier said. He wanted that, he realized. He wanted that more than he’d wanted anything in, say, the last forty-eight hours.

Geralt stood up and stepped out of his drawers. Jaskier propped himself up on his elbows, watching, following the flex of Geralt’s stomach. His cock was thick and red and  _ wet;  _ Jaskier sat up all the way, took off his shirt, and pulled Geralt back down by his hand.

Jaskier gripped Geralt’s cock tight. Geralt’s eyes fell shut, and he rocked up into Jaskier’s hand. “You look good like this,” Jaskier said.

“Naked?”

“Yea,” he said. He lay back down and pulled Geralt close, gripping his ass. “You’ll come like this,” he said.

Geralt braced himself on his forearms. “Jaskier,” he said.

“Like this, Geralt,” Jaskier repeated. Geralt let out a shuddering breath, head dropping between his shoulders. Jaskier pulled him down and pushed his thigh up against Geralt’s cock. With a defeated groan, Geralt moved.

Between thrusts, Geralt kissed Jaskier, and as his thrusts began to falter his kisses did, too, until he was panting into Jaskier’s mouth, and his cock was leaking against Jaskier’s thigh. Jaskier’s entire body was thrumming with need. Desperately, he tugged at Geralt’s hair. Geralt shuddered against him and came.

Jaskier held on as Geralt came down, chest heaving. Then Geralt pushed up again and gripped Jaskier tight, pulling, spreading precum down his cock, and Jaskier shut his eyes tight and went over the edge.

After, Jaskier fished a damp handkerchief from his still equally-damp pants and wiped the worst of the mess up. Geralt spread his bedroll wide and watched Jaskier fiddle with his clothes: finally Geralt sat up and grasped his wrist, and Jaskier halted.

“Lie down,” Geralt said, voice hoarse. Jaskier swallowed.

“Never would have thought you were a cuddler,” Jaskier said, easing himself down beside Geralt.

Geralt hummed and pulled Jaskier close. They were sweaty and smelled like sex and the fire was dying again. Jaskier opened his eyes and watched the shadows dance on Geralt’s face. He smiled.

Geralt smiled, too, then frowned. “Don’t write a ballad about this,” he said.

Jaskier laughed, a little hysterically. “I would never,” he said. “But it  _ would  _ sell well.”

Geralt smiled again. “Shh,” he said, and closed his eyes. Outside, a bird began to sing.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/zamiraruth)


End file.
